I went to check on one of our regular sites for foxes, close to Ashington, this afternoon. It wasn’t easy to tell that dusk was approaching, because it had been murky, misty and drizzly all day. A flock of Canada and Greylag Geese seemed quite content and weren’t giving any indication that they’d spotted a fox in the vicinity. A nearby hedgerow was filled with the calls of Goldcrests, surely recent immigrants on the strong northeasterly winds of the weekend. Every so often one would reveal itself and the flashes of yellow cut through the gloom. Then, distantly, I could hear the harsh ‘chak’ calls of Jackdaws. Curiosity got the better of me (I’ve recently read Crow Country by Mark Cocker and can really empathise with the obsessive need to observe, to know and to try to understand) so I went to see what the jackdaws were doing and where they were going. Nearby power cables were draped with a string of black and grey beads, but surely not enough for the number of calls I’d heard. Then, rising from a field just on the other side of a hedgrow from where I was standing, there they were; well over 1000 jackdaws and rooks, all flying in the same direction, surely towards their night-time roost. They vanished into the gloom while still in the air so I couldn’t be sure where they were heading. I relocated to another spot nearly a mile away and again there was a stream of corvids overhead. Plotting their flight line, and estimating the intersection with the first group I saw, means that I should easily find the roost site. Now that will be something special to add to our southeast Northumberland itineraries. A decent corvid roost is one of the natural wonders that everyone should see at least once, whether you’re a birder, an all-round naturalist or even someone who hasn’t really paid any attention to the world around us – you will be impressed.
A ray of light and a tide of black
Written by
in